Thursday, September 15, 2011

Describe This: First thing in the morning

It's the first thing in the morning. You open your eyes and what do you see? Where are you? What does it smell like? What were you doing the night before? What do you eat for breakfast, or are you just getting home from a night of work?

Describe it for us.

12 comments:

Glynis said...

The sewerage smells from the London streets have not improved overnight. I wash from the porcelain bowl beside my bed and select my work gown. I add coals to the fire and stir my father's meal. It cooks overnight as he is a night-watchman and my morning is his night time. I wipe away the silt that drifts in through the gaps and prepare the table. He comes home, washes and we chat while I prepare my breakfast. Coffee and creamed oats are my daily start to the day. Kitty.

Aidan said...

I got to wake up on the boat today, with Marenya. That was good. Until she started bossing me around. Then she... Well. She wouldn't want me to talk about that. See? She's already blushing. Then she bossed me around some more.

It's a nice day but she's making me stay in bed all day.

Saxen said...

I woke in this lovely cottage by the sea that Raynor found for us. We are having a proper honeymoon at last. It's sunny and brisk outside, winds sweeping in over the cliff where we hope to build a home. I wish we could just have a cozy cottage like this one, for just the two of us. But we've loads of family and friends and even disinherited princes have a certain standard to maintain.

I would like to swim again, but Raynor says the water is too damn cold.

Aidan said...

Raynor is such a pussy.

It's boring here without him though.

Kitty, do you work?

Devi Marconi said...

As always, I wake up to the sight of a cave wall, dimly lit by the dying fire in the hearth. That - or the face of my sweetie, whose snoring isn't all that bad. Certainly better than my first husband's. (Sorry, Patrick.)

After Jesse and I snuggle a little bit more, we both get up, head to the communal showers, and start our respective days with breakfast in the dining hall. And down here, breakfast is rarely the same as the day before. Could be eggs, could be a bran muffin (or two) - you just never know - which is, of course, part of Ruby Hollow's charm.

Ginger (from the novel) said...

Solomon butts his nose against my cheek, purring like a mini lawnmower. A sea breeze comes in through the window. I can hear the rumble of the bread truck pulling up to the deli across the street. The air is heavy with summer moisture. It's not light yet and already warm.

I roll over and stroke Solomon's sleek fur. He's starting to fill in; I don't feel his bones as sharply as I used to. I squint at the clock. Four-thirty.

"You're evil." I kiss his head. "Time to make the donuts."

Laura Martone said...

Wow, Ginger, I never get up that early - unless I'm planning to go fishing with my dad. Actually, I'm normally going to bed at such an hour - something I vow to change once I'm done with my latest, never-ending travel guide!

Ginger said...

Well, I do have to get up early. We open at seven and there is a lot of prep to do each morning.

But I also have a furry alarm clock with no "off" switch.

Candy said...

First thing when I wake up I haven't a clue where I am as I'm in a different place each day. Actually it has been motels so far, maybe will be throughout the whole journey, and they all seem to smell the same:cleaning stuff, Ant poison, sometimes cigarettes.So I shower being careful not to notice signs of other people having stayed there, get dressed, not bothering with my Goth make up any more, and go outside to discover where this day is starting.

Ginger (from the story threads) said...

Rain patters on the windows into my sleep. I drift to waking, wrapped in warm, silky sheets and open my eyes to the sight of torn flesh, partly healed, still scarred and angry red.

Kaelin's back.

He was lashed yesterday by the council, a punishment for something that wasn't his fault at all. Something they should have rewarded him for.

I touch his shoulder. His skin is cold and he doesn't jerk as I would expect him to. He must be keeping himself in some sort of hibernation until he heals more. I sigh, and look around this beautiful room. Such brutality swathed in modern luxury and civility seems somehow even more brutal than it did in Belhanor.

Marneya (from the novel) said...

Cold stone dug against Marenya's shoulder and hip. Every sinew in her body ached and her head swam with pain. Ropes bound her hands behind her back; Synedd had finally decided that she was a threat. This thought made her smile. Her brain throbbed as the muscles in her face moved and she relaxed them instantly.

No smiling.

When the throbbing eased she opened her eyes. Utter blackness. They had left her in the dark, alone. She recalled the white flash behind her eyes when the curse hit her and panicked tripped in her veins. Was she blind?

There was one way to tell. She uncurled one hand as much as she could, the one that was on top, and tried casting a light. A bright golden ball floated up above her, illuminating a small cell carved out of one of the tunnels, with a heavy, barred door. Her eyes stung with relief. She could see.

But what could she do? She had to get out, to warn them. She was in so much pain she could hardly move.

What would Faldur do?

Aidan said...

from Sentinel, Archive of Fire:

Aidan woke to a swollen throat and stinging eyes, shivering so violently he ached all over. He brushed the tears aside with the back of his hand, embarrassed to be crying. It had been so long since he’d even imagined his brother’s face. He’d been shooting a rifle, and his hair was too long...

Realization washed his sadness away. The scent of rain leaked in around the grey metal door. He’d been moved again. He sent out a tendril of ken and it stretched, painfully, past the walls. It found nothing alive.

For the first days of his abduction, he’d slept on the concrete floor of the room where he’d been interrogated, as far from the blood stains and the dead body as possible. Then he got into a rage, banged his fists bloody, and a couple of them held him down while another jabbed a needle into his thigh. That wasn’t the only time. After they came at him with needles, he always woke somewhere new, one place linked to the next by a dank underground smell and his senses bounding back at him. But he didn’t recall this time, this needle, this move.
His right hand lay near his face. He looked away from the ruddy triangular scar on his palm and sought the Celtic Knot. Still there, liquid black against his skin. He didn’t try to move anything else but his eyes for a long while, fighting to remember, to track his days. His life had become a monotonous blur, punctuated by food--never enough--and minor abuse at the hands of his captors.

Finally, as he lay on the cold floor, wishing for a drink, he felt a constriction around his throat. One hand crept up and found a nylon strap with a small box. When he swallowed, two metal points irritated the skin over his jugular. He’d not been treated like this by his previous captors. Sold, to the highest bidder. Funny how he prayed it was his father. Better to be Sentinel’s slave than an animal in a hole.